


Siren Song

by Ceminar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bondage, Chucklevoodoos, Come Inflation, Dubious Morality, Eye Trauma, Gore, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceminar/pseuds/Ceminar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mine. All motherfuckin’ mine. Each and every part of you belongs to the brother most faithful. Inside and motherfuckin’ out.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren Song

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any missing tags, but the general summary is 'This is kinda fucked up, gross, and gory. And I'm not sorry for any of this.'
> 
> For the record, the times Kurloz 'Speaks' is all via chucklevoodoo. Just an FYI.

_If it feels good, tastes good  
It must be mine_

You expected his screams to draw company. In fact, you had counted on it. Ever since you decided to take in this poor little heretic as your personal plaything, you’ve wanted nothing more than to put him through his paces.

Snipping through the thread that kept him together much like your own lips, unraveling the slick, squishy innards as they plop to the floor. You had never had a toy quite like this in the near eternity this version of yourself has wandered the bubbles. Meulin had her uses, her own value as entertainment, but you could never do too much to her. You still had some inkling of emotion for the fanatic. Besides, her uses to the Church were more important than any personal reason for keeping her whole. Or as whole as she can be.

But him? This tiny little Ampora, with his only redeeming factor being that he’s much better than the Ampora you suffered through the game with? Oh, he’s just so beautiful… The crack and snap of his bones as they’re twisted, posed like a doll in painful, unnatural positions. The musical drip of fluids from his eyes, his nose, his mouth, the gaping wound left by one of his so-called friends to the barren floor of his memory-hive. It’s so wonderful…

So much you’ve done to him. Having two halves of a single troll that still function as if they were whole is nothing short of a miracle, after all. You’ve served him his own nook, his bulge, hung him by his severed spinal column, placed his organs out in front of him and made him watch as you caressed each and every one, rubbed the viscera against your sealed lips, flashing purple eyes locked with pale violets.

“Mine. All motherfuckin’ mine. Each and every part of you belongs to the brother most faithful. Inside and motherfuckin’ out.”

If only you still had your tongue… How you would love to drag it across his entrails to further stake your claim. But this was enough.

_So close I can taste it  
I see what's mine and take it_

And he was so… Compliant… Not like there was much choice in the matter. You still remember the first time he willingly gave himself to you, how it sent shivers down your spine. You had always suspected he liked you playing with his deepest parts, but that day… You’re pretty little siren crawled to you, carefully stitched together for the time being. He sat and awaited your acknowledgement and, once given, looked up at you from behind those glasses, head back and giving a clear view of the silver and black collar you had bestowed upon him. But that wasn’t what he wanted you to see. In his quiet, wavering voice, he asked if he could give you something. Something you haven’t touched yet. Something he wanted you and only you to have. No, something only you would ever have.

And you had to admit, you were curious. Even though you kept your expression neutral, you leaned forward from your seat behind his desk. What was it your little pet wants to give that you haven’t already claimed? Didn’t you tell him everything was yours already?

With a nod to him, you watched him swallow, watched him steel himself as he raised a hand to his face. What could he be doing? The glasses came off, folded up and set aside before once immaculately kept claws moved to those creamy peepers, two holding one open as his thumb pressed into the flesh. Excitement began to take you as you leaned closer. He wasn’t. He was! Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he pressed and pressed, chewing his lips deliciously as the organ bulged from its socket until-

POP!

With a short cry, your pet caught it as it dangled from the now empty socket, attached only by the optic nerve. Shaking, fingers tinged with blood and tears, he moved to the next. This time, it went by much faster. No hesitation as before. Just the nice, clean ‘Pop!’ and a whimper as he held the twin orbs in his hands, head bowed as he presented them to you.

He knew, he started, voice stronger than you would expect after an ordeal like that, that he belonged to you. As if you hadn’t made that clear by taking him apart and lovingly caressing him inside and out. But he wanted you to know that his gaze would only be yours. That he would look to no one else if it would please you.

And your lips nearly bled. How you smiled at him, the thread pulling at your lips as you fought not to laugh in pure joy. Look at this, you wanted to scream, look at this, the most wonderful of gifts you could have been given, for now, you realize, you didn’t take him. He was gifted to you by the Mirthful Ones themselves! You release the arms of the chair, not realizing that they had been gripped so tightly until they fall to the floor with a clatter, ignoring the indents your fingertips left in them as you kneel in front of him

His gaze. His literal gaze. This little miracle would take his own motherfuckin’ peepers out his skull to give to you. To crush into jelly. To preserve for the continuing eternity. To do whatever your bloodpusher desires. What a glorious surprise! You shook as you placed your hand over his, over those milky orbs, covering them gently.

All motherfuckin’ yours. Every inch of him, from chipped, flaking horns, to soft, padded feet, every inch of veins and entrails, every drop of blood, every pulsating organ in between. Yours, yours, yours!

_Finders keepers, losers weepers  
Oh yeah_

When you touch him, your pet, your miracle, shivers. He can’t see your expression, how pleased you are, how your face is ready to split from your smile. Carefully, you trace over them, feel how soft, how smooth they are for yourself. Such a pure gesture… You lift one to your lips, imagining lavishing it with the tongue you no longer have. You kiss it, watch as his head tilts, as tears and blood continues to drip from the now empty sockets, covered only by eyelids with the nerve dangling from it. You want to see more. Carefully, you pry the cavity open, staring into the darkness. Oh, if only you had a candle or the like, how you would love to see him lit up from the inside like a jack-o-lantern. You want to taste him, but settle for exploring him with your fingers for the moment. Obediently, he holds still for you until you feel what is possibly his thinkpan, as that’s the only time he flinches, but resists crying out. Good troll.

When you finish, his face is tilted up at you again, hands still out with the one eye still held there. What next, he wants to know. Well… You just love showing how grateful you can be, don’t you? Holding his chin, you lead the nerves back into their place, pressing his ‘gaze’ back where it belongs. As you start with the second, he asks you what you’re doing. If you’re rejecting his offering. You slide the second orb home before answering with a press off lips to closed eyelids.  
Motherfuckin’ accepted. His gaze will be yours for as long as you two exist, literally and figuratively. You ain’t returning not a damn thing, only putting them where you can better admire them. His face turns completely violet then, as he throws himself into your arms, sobs echoing through the otherwise empty hive.

Oh… That memory… You keep it tucked away like so many others, where no one but yourself will be able to find it, not even your ectobrother.

Now you return to the present, where there’s currently a troll, clearly an adult if you’ve ever seen one, staring at the spectacle before him. Your pet is tied tight in black, velvety ribbons, suspended from the ceiling with legs spread. Tiny vibrators were taped to the folds of his nook, the underside of his exposed bulge, wastechute spread open by the large, clear pseudo-bulge filling him, the only thing allowed inside him for now. Unlike the rest of him, his mouth remains unrestrained, so he can sing his beautiful song to attract unexpected visitors to their fun.

And this visitor is highly unexpected, even for you. From the corner of the room, you take in this figure. The familiar arrow shaped horns, the long, straight hair and royal blue uniform. From stories, you know him. Darkleer. The troll your Zahhak could have been. Or was. However that works out. And here he is, roaming bubbles, popping into yours with only the most confused expression on his face. At least from what you can tell behind the goggles he wears. But by the flare of his nostrils, you know he’s taking in the sight and scent of your little pet as he leaks all over the floor.

“Ain’t he just motherfuckin’ beautiful?”

The elder troll spins to meet your flashing eyes as you grin. Goggles or not, you don’t need eye contact to get in someones head. He takes a long look at you, and you can sense his thoughts as he pieces together who you are, settling on ‘highblooded whelp.’ Rather rude if you were to be asked, but you let it slide.

“I asked you something, my blueblooded brother. What you be thinking about my most favorite of pets? He just so pretty leakin’ juices like a squeezed up grape-”

“What’s the meaning of this?” So unlike Horrus. You continue to smile at him as he’s compelled to watch how Eridan squirms, weakly asking who was there. You don’t really want to explain this to him, especially when it’ll probably be forgotten soon after, and tweak with a few wires here and there and-

“I asked what the meaning of this was. Do not make me repeat myself again.”

Oh… Well, this wasn’t going to be fun.

“Alright motherfucker, I don’t yet know what be happenin in that pan of yours and why it’s so hard to crack you, but let me fill you in.”

Quicker than one would expect from the normally lazy you, you slip past his guard, grasping his face in your gloved hands as you press your forehead against his. It took work to reach that high, and you nearly had to tackle him to do so, but the contact makes your connection stronger.

Heh… Stronge- What the most unholy of fucks is this? It’s… Empty. No… Not empty… Just vast. If it wasn’t for that initial inkling of curious desire, you wouldn’t know where to turn to find the pleasure center and crank it up to 11. He put up a fight, hiding parts of himself you don’t give a damn about, pushing back with how ‘Improper’ such things are, how ashamed you should be for taking advantage of such a young troll. How he shouldn’t be surprised. Trolls your age have no self respect, no sense of authority.You just laugh at him. Like he wasn’t in your shoes before, just shy of his final molt, the need to stick his bulge in a wet, inviting nook nearly overwhelming every last one of the senses. The slightest things setting you off. The odd moan when the object of your affection stretches… The sight of their flushed skin… The taste of their lips against yours, the smell of their hair, matted to their head from the sweat they worked up, the feel of their body against yours…

You can feel his body warm against yours as you feed him these ideas. You know he wants to give in. The quiet groan, how he chews his lip and tries to pull away physically and mentally. Ain’t nothin wrong with giving into them urges. And when you got a motherfucker waiting for you. Wanting you to fill them up, to tear them apart.

“Look at him.” He’s cracking. “That motherfucker over there is near in-fuckin’-satiable. Always beggin’ for more… I can’t keep up with him, but he’s always down for helpin’ others ‘relieve’ themselves.” He’s perspiring and the smell of it nearly drowns out your Ampora and it’s pathetically endearing. “You just gonna leave him like that? Walk away from not one, but two motherfuckin’ highbloods?”

When you let him go, he staggers, eyes darting behind his goggles between you and the still writhing mass of flesh that is your pet. He wants to. He does. But he still isn’t sure, even if his bulge is straining against the front of his pants.

“Pet.” You snap your fingers, and Eridan’s whimpers die down. “Tell this motherfucker what you be wanting.” Nothing puts the nail in the coffin more than a bit of begging.

And he delivers. He swallows, struggling to right himself at least a little, before letting out a long, low moan. What he wants, he says, is that fuckin bulge filling him up. What he wants, he continues, is to be filled up like a pail, by whoever wishes to use him as such. What he wants- what he needs, is to be split in half and fucked until he can’t see straight.

Ding ding ding. That does it for the blueblood. The nudge needed to send him over the edge. With the faintest whisper of ‘Go.’ He’s tearing himself free of his clothes, shakily gripping the legs of the young violetblood that you possess, bulge smearing blue across his inner thighs before forcing himself into the deliciously tight body.

Like any good owner, you watch as he plays with your things. You drink up their expressions, Eridan’s wide eyes, how is mouth is open in a silent gasp at finally being filled, the bright blue blush over this Darkleer’s face, how his hair clings to him as he steadies himself. It’s almost as if he hasn’t fucked someone in eons. Possible, but even sadder in your opinion. You prod at his pan to ensure he doesn’t get cold feet, and he starts to move. The blueblood is none too gentle with your troll, the way his bulge spreads him open, the visible lump in his stomach as it twists wildly inside him, rubbing against the toy in his chute separated by the thin wall of skin. Many of the vibrators fall away after the initial thrust, but the few that stay seem to affect them both as neither of them last long. Within minutes, they’re groaning, Eridan screaming as his toes curl and blue and violet slurry spills from him, splashing to the floor as his stomach expands, taking on a blue tint from the sudden surge of material inside him.

As the two catch their breath, you slip into his pan again, asking the blueblood a few simple questions. Was he done already? Because you hope not. You want to know exactly what he thought of your pet, too.

And he tells you. He has no intent on letting this little… Siren… Get off so easily. He holds Eridan by the sides, thumbs pressing against his ribs as if to crack them and pulls him further down on his bulge until the last vibrating egg is buzzing loudly against his sheath and he shudders. He was drawn here by this enchanting song, and he doesn’t wish to leave until it ends.

You smile to yourself, off to the side once more as he takes your pet, grabbing him, bruising him, covering him in sweat and genetic material and, you’re almost positive, tears of pleasure. You can let him have that joy just this once. Not for his sake, but for your pet’s. And if they both make it through this, then maybe you’ll call him back for another session. After all, once the song of the siren is in your pan, it never really goes away. And that song is the gateway you need to release this poor tool of his inhibitions.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting, finished, since like... October? Sorry...  
> And now a song! I scream, you scream, we all scream for EYE TRAUMA WTF WHY?!?!  
> Emperor's New Clothes was my jam the entire time this was in production. In case you were wondering.


End file.
